


Meet Along the Way

by stardropdream (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 19:00:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/690365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England comes to meet America at the airport.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet Along the Way

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ December 19, 2009.

“Before you say anything, it isn’t my fault,” America said as way of greeting as he met England at the baggage claim, his hair disheveled and his breathing a bit ragged as he skidded to a stop in front of England. Bags slid down the ramp and into the rotating carousel, and America watched as his fellow passengers collected their bags or waited for their luggage to appear. England’s arms were crossed. America continued, hurriedly, “There was a delay back in Washington—traffic on the runway—we had to wait behind, like, fifty planes I swear!”   
  
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” England said smoothly, one eyebrow raised. “I suppose it isn’t your fault if one of _your_ airports has problems maintaining their own workload and dispensing planes in a timely fashion.”   
  
America worried for a moment that England was actually annoyed, glancing over at him and away from the baggage claim. England’s words lacked bite, however, and his eyes betrayed the slightest amount of amusement.   
  
England looked away from him and hoisted up America’s bag as it passed them on the conveyer belt. He tossed it to America who caught it easily, slinging the duffle over his shoulder.   
  
“How was the flight?”   
  
“Aside from the delay and not getting any food? Awesome,” America said and shook out his leg for emphasis. “Nice and cramped—just the way I like it.”   
  
England reached into the pocket of his suit jacket and held out a wrapped package. America stared at it suspiciously and England frowned, eyebrows furrowing as he shook his hand towards him.   
  
“I bought it from the deli before I came here. I know they don’t give food on these flights anymore,” England muttered, looking away.  
  
America grinned and snatched the sandwich from his hand—now that he was sure England hadn’t made it—unwrapped it, and bit into it. “Thanks, England!”   
  
“I didn’t do it for you, don’t misunderstand,” England was quick to say, face pinking slightly. “I just didn’t want to hear you whining about how hungry you are once you got here and it’s too late to stop off for fast food.”   
  
America inhaled his sandwich, eating it quickly and waving his hand in a dismissal of England’s denial.   
  
“This is good!” he said through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Bits of crumbs stuck to his face and flew from his mouth as he spoke. England cringed slightly, looking disgusted, before simply nodding his head.   
  
“Hmm,” England said and started walking, the two of them weaving their way through the people towards the outside of the airport. England led the way. “How’s your cold?”   
  
America, to demonstrate, sniffled loudly and said through a mouthful of sandwich, “Fine! I’m great.”   
  
“Of course,” England said and said it in a way where America couldn’t tell what he meant by that tone. America watched as the other country stifled a yawn, blinking a few times.   
  
America polished up his sandwich, crumbled the saran wrap into a small ball and tossed it into the wastebasket from a distance. When it made its target, he pumped his fist in the air, looking rather pleased and turning towards England with a wide grin, looking for recognition to his great achievement.   
  
England was walking on as if he hadn’t realized America had stopped. America stumbled after him, footsteps loud and echoing in the corridor.  
  
“Hey! Hey, England, wait up!”   
  
England glanced over his shoulder but obediently stopped, waiting for the taller nation to catch up to him. Once they were walking side-by-side again, the two of them continued. America grinned and didn’t voice his thanks—though his shining eyes implied it—and they walked on together. England was quiet, thoughtful and possibly morose, his hands in his pockets and his face turned straight ahead. America kept shifting the weight of his duffle and carry-on bag to sit more comfortably on his shoulders. He stuck his hands into the front pocket of his sweatshirt, burrowing a bit into its warmth as the two of them walked and America felt fully the chill of the winter weather in England. He hated winter.   
  
“So when’s this meeting again?” he asked, when he decided the silence was going on for too long. It was always him that broke the silence.   
  
The look England gave him was positively withering. “Shouldn’t you know that already before you waste everyone’s time and show up here?”   
  
“If I’m staying at your place, I figured you’d know well enough to make sure I wasn’t late or got lost,” America told him cheerfully, grinning at his own genius.  
  
England continued to look less than impressed.   
  
America’s grin took on a more apologetic look for half a second before it was replaced with an overly enthusiastic thumbs up. “I, uh… don’t really remember when I’m supposed to get up. I never really knew.”   
  
“I figured as much.”   
  
America laughed.   
  
England’s mouth twitched in the way that America knew meant that he was secretly amused, or at least not as upset as he was presenting, and didn’t want to admit that America had charmed him once again.   
  
“I certainly hope there’s a suit in that bag of yours,” England muttered, as a way to steer the subject and conversation in a direction where England could legitimately be annoyed. He eyed the duffle bag slung over one of America’s shoulders. “Though it’ll probably look rather ridiculous if you just stuffed it haphazardly into your bag. Wrinkled and all around sad looking.” He eyed America next, shifting his gaze away from the bag and to the bag’s owner, looking displeased over the baggy clothing he was wearing. “Though that wouldn’t be unlike you, really. To look unprofessional.”  
  
“Hey,” America said and almost pouted. He stopped a moment, interrupting the flow of other weary travelers who circled around the two of them. England crossed his arms and almost smirked. America puffed up his cheeks in annoyance. “I have a suit.”   
  
“Wrinkled?”  
  
America paused a moment, frowning, then admitted, “I dunno.”   
  
“Hm, I thought as such,” England said and America hated how victorious he sounded over something as stupid as a suit—so what if he looked sloppy (which he totally wouldn’t), he was the United States and therefore awesome. He could roll into the meeting wearing only his boxers with the smiling fish on them and everyone would be too impressed to snap out any back sass.   
  
“It’s easier to wear one on the plane, I find,” England said easily, and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his suit. “That way you don’t have to pack it and worry about it getting wrinkled.”  
  
“Who the heck would want to wear a suit on a plane?” He paused, and then added, “Besides you.” America looked genuinely appalled by England’s suggestion. “That’s so uncomfortable! You’d probably be less grumpy all the time if you just loosened up, England! Wear a sweatshirt for once!”   
  
“I can’t do that, because then I’d look as ridiculous as you do at meetings,” England shot back with a smirk. America pouted again and England snorted. “Idiot.”   
  
“You’re the idiot because I bet you’d wear an entire suit on the plane all the time, even if it was tight and uncomfortable.” He leaned forward and tugged on England’s tie. It loosened against America’s tug and the smirk on England’s lips smoothed out to an annoyed frown as he batted America’s hand away.   
  
He straightened out the tie, pushing the knot back to its proper place. America watched him a moment before snorting.  
  
“See? Loosen up, old man.”  
  
“Don’t call me that,” England muttered and gave him a withered look again.   
  
“It wouldn’t kill you to look a little unprofessional every once and a while. Your idea of casual is a sweater vest,” America said with a laugh, and would never admit in a million years that the sweater vests seemed to work well for England. “Come on and just kick back for once.”   
  
“You’re suggesting that I don’t ever… kick back,” England said, voice clipped.  
  
“Are you suggesting you do? When?”   
  
“Football matches,” England shot back, eyes narrowed. “I don’t wear sweater vests then.”   
  
“I wouldn’t exactly call you loosened up during a soccer game—”  
  
“Football.”  
  
“No, soccer.” America rolled his eyes and continued where he’d left off: “I wouldn’t say you were kicked back… unless you mean that literally. In which case, yeah. I guess I’ve seen you kick a few guys in the head over it.”   
  
“There’s also X Factor,” England decided, arms crossed. “Just because I don’t act like a total slob or idiot like you do doesn’t mean that I don’t know how to be casual. Whenever you’re here it’s usually for meetings, so of course I’d be dressed professionally.”   
  
“Whatever you say, England. Oh and—” America began and leaned forward, poking England in the forehead. “I do not look like a mess during meetings. I look damn awesome and you know it.”  
  
“Hardly,” his companion said, slapping the other country’s hand away with an annoyed snort.   
  
“You’re in a grumpy mood today.”   
  
“It’s half two in the morning,” England grumbled, rubbing at his forehead and looking woeful a moment before it was replaced with a customary annoyance that America always associated with England—furrowed brow, thinned lips, and a snappish voice.   
  
“Huh? Oh. Guess I’m still on time from back home,” America said with a laugh.  
  
“Clearly.” England groaned low in his throat. “You always find a way to be obsessively cheerful at the most inappropriate of times.”   
  
America, as if to spite England, beamed at him. England grumbled and shoved against him, face contorted with his annoyance. America laughed. They started walking again, England leading the way towards the parking where his car was waiting for him.   
  
“If you keep up that laughing I’ll just leave you here and you won’t get to sleep at my house.”  
  
“I’m not tired, anyway,” America said, and then seemed to process what England was saying and quickly added, “But you can’t kick me out! You already promised.”  
  
“Yes, yes,” England said with a sigh and a dismissive wave.   
  
“And you wouldn’t leave me behind, anyway,” America said, confidently.   
  
England snorted.   
  
They walked outside and America squinted up at the dark night sky. “Jeez, does it always rain here?”  
  
England’s glare was back, and he angled his face up towards America so that he could fully see his annoyance. “It does not _always_ rain.”   
  
“Seems like it. No wonder you’re so uptight all the time. Being cooped up inside or rained on doesn’t seem all that appealing.”   
  
“Tch,” England scoffed. He looked away. “Fool.”   
  
England yawned as they walked. He tried to shield it behind his hand, his face scrunching up a moment and his eyes bleary and slightly sagged. America watched him a moment before clapping a hand on his shoulder.   
  
“Hey, want me to drive?”   
  
England exhaled a small, disbelieving laugh and shrugged his shoulder. America didn’t remove his hand. “After the last time? I don’t think so.”  
  
“It’s not my fault,” America said automatically, even though he couldn’t know for certain about what part of the last time England was referring to.   
  
England shook his head. “You’re stupid enough to believe that, which is why you aren’t allowed to drive my car ever again.” He dusted America’s hand with his own, fingers brushing over the knuckles before he grasped his wrist and removed it, looking up at him and looking both sleepy, annoyed, and slightly amused all at once. The latter emotion was quickly gone, however, when their eyes locked. “If you refuse to drive on the right side of the road, then you don’t get the keys.”  
  
“But I _do_ drive on the right side! You people are the ones driving on the left.”   
  
“… I meant you don’t drive on the correct side, you idiot,” England snapped, eyebrow twitching.   
  
“If you fall asleep and we crash, I’ll be really upset.”   
  
“I’m not going to fall asleep and crash,” England barked. “If anything, your stupidity will keep me on edge long enough to get us back to my house.”   
  
“Great. Oh hey, I see your car!”  
  
“Congratulations.”   
  
America huffed. “Hey.”  
  
England actually chuckled, which cut off America’s annoyance in half very quickly. He stared at his companion a moment as they continued walking towards England’s car. He cleared his throat, sniffled a little as his cold threatened to bubble up a few coughs, and ran after England when he saw the other nation getting a bit too far ahead of him.   
  
They walked side by side and America leaned against the car as England went about unlocking the driver’s side of the car. America crossed his arms and once England unlocked the rest of the doors with the switch inside and popped the trunk for America, he threw his two bags in and closed it with a clap of sound in the otherwise empty parking lot.   
  
“Get in already, America,” England said, only just managing to stifle a yawn. “I’m damned tired.”  
  
“Man remind me next time to just get a taxi. If I’d known I’d be getting such a scrooge I’d have preferred at least having someone I can pay to be cheerful.”   
  
“Anyone who could be cheerful at this late at night is insane,” England said and slanted America with a meaningful look.  
  
“See, like that! Only insults,” America said, opting for the dramatics for the sake of filling up the air with words, to prevent from what would otherwise be a silent ride—he was totally doing this to keep England awake.   
  
“You didn’t even say hello when you got here,” England snorted. “How am I meant to be cheerful when I was forced to wait for hours in an airport when I could have been sleeping and now I have to cart around a loud, ungrateful idiot?”   
  
“Awww, England,” America teased. “I didn’t know you were looking forward to greeting me so much.”  
  
“Are you even listening?” England groused. He looked away with a huff, crossing his arms. “You can get a damn cab next time if you’re so unhappy about the current arrangement, bastard. Maybe I’ll throw you out at a hotel, too.”   
  
America tapped his hand on England’s shoulder, drawing his attention back.   
  
“Don’t be like that,” America said, poking England in the shoulder and leaning in closer. “You’re better than a taxi. You brought me a sandwich and I don’t even have to pay you for the car ride.”  
  
England narrowed his eyes at him, mouth twitching.  
  
America laughed. “Come on.”   
  
“I am not coming on,” England snapped back, though he looked less annoyed from before, and more exhausted.   
  
“I said it wasn’t my fault the flight was late.”  
  
“I know, I heard you. Unlike you, I actually listen.”   
  
“You’re not listening,” America insisted. He placed both hands on England’s shoulders, staring at him. “You’re better.”   
  
England, possibly from sleep deprivation, looked confused for a moment.   
  
America leaned forward, lips puckering up obnoxiously. England stared at him, face a perfect deadpan. When America made a kissy noise England’s eyebrow twitched and he looked as if he was about to shove America away. Before he could, though, America laughed and lifted his hands, cupping England’s cheeks.  
  
England seemed to get it then, and his furrowed brow smoothed out as the realization dawned on him.  
  
He looked away. “Oh. Very well.”   
  
Grinning, America leaned all the way in now, kissing him properly, mouth slanted over his. England let out a small, annoyed noise before he wrapped his arms around America’s waist, pulling him close and kissing him back.   
  
When he pulled away, he gave him a smile that was both wolfish and sheepish at the same time. “Hello, England.”   
  
England let out a small, tired sigh. He tapped his knuckles against America’s forehead, almost affectionately. “Hello, you exhausting idiot.”  
  
America pressed his nose into England’s hair.   
  
England snorted. “You smell like an airplane.”  
  
“You smell like moldy mushrooms or something. That’s what happens when all it does is rain around here.”   
  
“I do not smell like mushrooms,” England protested.  
  
America laughed, the sound wafting over his ear as he kissed the shell of his ear. “You’re no fun when you’re tired.”   
  
“Shut it.”   
  
America laughed again.   
  
England released a long sigh, weary and suffering. He threaded his fingers through America’s hair and tugged.  
  
“Are you going to let me drive home now? I’m tired.”  
  
“Fiiine,” America sighed and released England.   
  
England turned the ignition and started driving back towards his home, leaving the airport behind. They were turning out of the exit when America perked up.  
  
“Wait! I had another bag!”   
  
“What?” England protested and his face contorted with annoyance.   
  
“Turn back!”  
  
“No way.”  
  
“But my bag!”  
  
“Too damn bad,” England snapped. “I’m tired. I’m already driving. You’re loud and obnoxious and keeping me up at stupid o’ clock in the fucken mornin’ and you had all that time to remember you had another god damned bag.” The look he gave America was icy enough to freeze hell over. “You can get it in the morning.”  
  
“But the other bag had my suit,” America protested.   
  
“I. Don’t. Care.” But it was clear he did, as the hands on the steering wheel twitched at the mention of the suit.   
  
“Englaaaaaand,” America whined.   
  
“Damn it,” he swore. “Whatever happened to loosening up?”   
  
“Englaaaaaand,” America whined again. “You said it’s bad to be unprofessional at meetings.”   
  
England released the longest of groans before he pulled a sudden u-turn, turning the car around and driving back to the terminal. “You have five minutes, if you aren’t back in time for that then I’m going to leave you behind and you really can call a cab after that.”   
  
They got back to the airport and America hurried back inside and back to the carousel. Once he got there, there was one lonely bag, his, rotating around. He hoisted it up and rushed back towards the idling car in the unloading lane.   
  
He opened the door and threw the bag to the backseat. “England, I—”  
  
He froze when he saw the other country dozing, forehead resting against the steering wheel. America blinked in surprise and stayed slack-jawed a moment before he seemed to snap out of it. Cracking the smallest of smiles, he unbuckled England’s seatbelt and navigated around the car and scooping England up, he deposited England into the passenger seat, doing up his seat belt and pushing the seat back for the exhausted nation. England snorted in his sleep and stirred, eyes blinking open and staring groggily at America.   
  
“Sleep,” America commanded.   
  
England didn’t need to be told twice, shutting his eyes and head lolling off to the side.  
  
America climbed into the driver’s seat and, after a moment where he tried to remember that everything was switched around and getting in an accident while driving England’s car while said nation was sleeping was a really bad idea.   
  
“Damn, I forgot his car isn’t automatic,” America muttered and after a few more minutes of adjustments, managed to get the car moving off towards the direction of England’s house with only one sickening lurch.   
  
England muttered something in his sleep, chuckling to himself at a joke that America wasn’t privy to. America glanced at him when he wasn’t busy studying the road—which was not that exciting so late in the night, with no one on the road.   
  
“See? Now you’re loosened up,” America told the sleeping nation.   
  
England snorted in his sleep again, face pressed unattractively to the car’s window, face smooshed and lips parted, threatening drool. He snored a little.   
  
America grinned, loopy and amused. At a stop light, he leaned over and kissed England’s cheek before driving on.  
  
“Ha, I ended up driving anyway. I’m awesome.”


End file.
